Principles of Desolation

by Randall N Bills

  But at present, subsuming herself into the Confederation wasn't in her nature. Danai fully supported spreading the glory of the realm, but she wasn't above having a little fun while she was at it. And in truth, even without the noble goals of reclaiming a Capellan planet and opening a route to Tikonov, Danai would have been excited by this mission. Taking a shot at the Federated Suns while she had the chance was always worth the effort.

  She'd been on Terra for two months, and most of the time she hadn't had any idea of what she could do on behalf of the Confederation—or even of what she could do to amuse herself. Left to her own devices, she'd flirted with a Davion and struck up a friendship with a

  Marik of the Oriente Protectorate. Neither development would please Daoshen, but thankfully she had no reason to let him know about them. Her Great-Aunt Erde had told her numerous times to make sure some parts of her life remained irrevocably hers.

  "Do you want a cinnamon roll?" Nikol asked. "I want a cinnamon roll."

  Nikol, the catalyst for what little fun she'd had on this planet, had come along to the DropPort to see her off. The scent of cinnamon filled the wide corridor they were passing through, and Nikol reacted the way the merchants expected her to act.

  "Then get a cinnamon roll," Danai said.

  "You want one?"

  "No. I hate boarding with sticky fingers."

  Nikol threw her a curious look. Danai shrugged.

  Two minutes later, the cinnamon roll was half gone and they were near the customs line.

  "Give me a bite," Danai said.

  "The odor," Nikol said. "You can't fight it."

  "Give me a bite!"

  "What about the sticky fingers?"

  "Hold it for me."

  Nikol obliged.

  Danai savored her bite, then turned toward the long, winding line. "Time to whip out the pass."

  "Be sure to hold your nose in the air as you walk by the great unwashed masses," Nikol said. "They love that."

  "The little people are grateful for my mere presence. No matter how I hold my nose."

  "Little Capellan people, maybe. Little Republic people . . ."

  "Good point," Danai said. "Maybe I should crawl by them."

  Nikol waved her hand. "Ah, just walk. There have been so many dignitaries coming and going the past few months you'll just blend into the background."

  Danai pulled herself to her full height. She arched her back a little and unbuttoned her jacket, letting it fall open. Immediately, at least ten nearby males started to gape, then quickly turned away so their stares would not be noticed.

  Danai returned to her normal posture. "I never blend into the background," she said firmly.

  Nikol laughed. "I suppose not." She grasped Danai in a quick hug. "You'd better go. If you're ever in my corner of the Inner Sphere . . ."

  "Where else would I be?" Danai said. "We're neighbors."

  Neither of them mentioned that, most of the time, they'd be at least several weeks' travel apart, and that they'd have little reason to run into each other. Their future meetings would be rare—if they occurred at all.

  "Give 'em hell," Nikol said.

  "You too," Danai replied, then turned and walked by the crowd in the customs line. She noticed one of the men who had looked at her earlier still shooting her surreptitious glances, and she aimed a broad wink at him. He reddened and turned the other way. Danai smiled back at Nikol, and Nikol shook her head and laughed again.

  It was good to be back in control, Danai thought. But then she turned a corner to walk up to the DropShip. Nikol disappeared from her sight, and there was nothing she could do to keep her friend with her. Control was never total.

  2

  Sian Jump Point

  Capellan Confederation

  21 September 3135

  No one should ever notice how hard he was working.

  That was one of Daoshen Liao's rules of conduct. His bearing, his poise, his confidence should look effortless. The authority he gave to every word he spoke should seem completely natural. The aura he possessed should seem a part of who he was, rather than the result of a relentless effort to embody the most glorious sovereign nation in the Inner Sphere.

  He owed his ancestors and his realm nothing less. He knew there were those who sneered at him, at the way he carried himself, at the materials with which he surrounded himself. It was good to travel out of the Confederation on occasion, to directly encounter those who did not understand him, who belittled his efforts. If he spent all his time at home, he would be surrounded only by people who worshipped him and the Confederation he ruled (two things that, in truth, were one and the same). Journeys away from home allowed him to encounter such oddities as Exarch Jonah Levin, a plainspo- ken man whose distaste for the trappings of his office was evident in every public gathering. At times when Levin should pull glory into himself and bask in the worship of his people, he shrank. Or worse, he fell into tactics of logic. Of persuasion. Of attempting to convince his people to follow him.

  The man's lack of dignity was appalling. Yet Daoshen knew that several subjects of the Republic of the Sphere, accustomed to rulers such as Levin, expected all leaders to behave like Levin. When such people saw Daoshen, whose every move incarnated true nobility and leadership, they did not know how to react, and so they fell back on the reflexive contempt of those who lack understanding. They called him arrogant and they described his surroundings as ostentatious, all because they did not understand the true nature of power. They had never been ruled by someone who had entirely given himself to his position, who lived as an embodiment of the state he served. People like Levin were so wrapped up in politics that they had no time to lead. That was what Daoshen's trappings meant. They had no personal value, as Daoshen had no need for such luxuries. The trappings existed to further the state, to exude the appropriate aura, to inspire loyalty and dedication. They, like everything else about Daoshen, existed for the good of the Confederation.

  Daoshen meticulously ensured that he had proper surroundings everywhere he traveled. He had heard grumblings from some of the hired Terran laborers about the work performed on his throne room, saying it would be complete just in time for him to depart, and that, relations being what they were, Daoshen might never return to use the room they were creating. But their complaints only showed their ignorance.

  It had taken time, but eventually the CulturalCenter became an appropriate backdrop for him. Now he was on his executive JumpShip, in quarters whose every centimeter was designed for the effect he intended. His quarters took up nearly the entire gravity deck, because those who traveled with the chancellor should always remember how the state and its leader must take priority over their own selfish desires for comfort.

  The domed ceiling of his throne room was ten meters high and dotted with representations of Capellan Confederation planets—the Confederation as it should be, as it was in the days of the original Star League, not the crippled version inflicted on it by the long Succession Wars and the upstart Republic of the Sphere. Below the dome stood six black granite pillars, trapezoids that widened as they reached from floor to ceiling. The walls bore red-and-black murals of great Capellan leaders, each with a two-meter-high character naming a defining virtue of that ruler. By the throne was a picture of Daoshen's father, Sun-Tzu Liao. Next to him was the character for "rebirth." An apt reminder of all that Daoshen's father had done for the Confederation, and all the work left to Daoshen to restore the Confederation and build on his father's efforts.

  A subtle chime sounded from near the ebony doors. Daoshen's posture, already stiff, did not change. Around the room, four guards dressed in styles that had not been functional for well over a thousand years shifted into an attentive stance. The layered metal of their armored skirts rattled, and their swords cut the air with unified swishes.

  The doors opened and a herald in a red silk jacket with embossed yellow characters walked in.

  "Ilsa Centrella, magestrix of Canopus, has come in response to
a summons from the chancellor," the herald said in tones designed to reach far beyond the top of the dome.

  "We are ever honored when our beloved sister comes to our presence," Daoshen replied. "She may enter."

  Ilsa flowed in, and Daoshen watched her with admiration. While he could not approve of all of her actions as a ruler—the casual air of her administration reflected the laxness Daoshen believed was all too common in the Magistracy—he could not help but admire her regal air. She had the bearing of a true sovereign, and as ever, he thought her the epitome of grace. Her flowing robe displayed her straight, well-defined collarbone to good advantage, and she walked as if carried by a light breeze.

  Daoshen's herald followed her, carrying a small, padded stool. The stool was a concession .Daoshen still privately deplored, but after repeated gracious requests he had allowed his sister to bring her own chair to audiences with him. He knew it revealed a special preference for her, but she was his sister. He assumed any observers would understand.

  A lesser ruler would dread the conversation he was about to have, but only lesser rulers allowed themselves to be overcome by the emotions of their subjects. A good ruler must care for his subjects, of course, but he must never let their feelings stand in the way of the business of state, to which everything is secondary.

  "Couldn't we have done this over dinner, Daoshen?" Ilsa asked, speaking before Daoshen had a chance to begin the conversation. Several of the guards flinched, for they had heard Daoshen's vociferous reactions to breaches of etiquette in his throne room.

  He surprised them all by smiling. She was his sister, and she was, in her way, magnificent. In her presence, Daoshen could afford to be tolerant.

  "Matters concerning the realm are best discussed in the proper places," he said. "We are confident you understand that."

  "I understand it, of course," Ilsa said, shifting uncomfortably on her stool. "I'd just be more comfortable elsewhere."

  A long lecture about the insignificance Of a ruler's personal comfort sprang into Daoshen's head, but he had delivered a similar speech to Ilsa earlier in the week, so he saved this one for later use and instead continued with business.

  "We have received the latest news from New Hessen," he said. "Our troops have acquitted themselves admirably, but the numbers and nature of the opposition are larger and stronger than we expected. We have considered dedicating the appropriate resources to win the planet for the Confederation, but at present we believe other targets are more important. Therefore, we will shortly pull our troops away from the planet."

  Ilsa frowned. "We lost."

  Daoshen scowled. He had thought his description clear enough not to require restatement. "Our armed forces will be leaving the planet for the time being."

  "How bad are our losses?"

  "No more than are required."

  "Daoshen!" Ilsa said, anger flaring across her face. Again, several guards flinched at this breach of etiquette; but again, Daoshen chose not to respond to it.

  Ilsa calmed quickly. "I'm sorry. Lord Chancellor, but the answers you are giving me are not helpful."

  "The exact numbers of our losses are not important," Daoshen said. "Those who died lost their lives for the Confederation, and there is no greater honor. The outcome as it affects the Confederation matters more than the outcome of individual lives. In this case we—as you said—lost." Daoshen spat out the last word. "But we will bring our forces off-planet and marshal them for another attack. We may not approach New Hessen again, but we will continue our progress. In the end, there can be only one result—the Confederation will advance."

  "What news of Danai?"

  "Danai is not accounted for," Daoshen replied.

  Ilsa stayed silent for a long time. Her mouth trembled, and despite all his poise Daoshen briefly considered standing to give her comfort. He didn't, of course. A ruler did not indulge in that sort of emotional behavior.

  Ilsa finally spoke. "Not accounted for?"

  "She is not in the ranks and her body has not been recovered. She is not accounted for."

  "She's missing."

  Ilsa's need to restate the obvious grated on Daoshen's nerves. "Yes," he said through clenched teeth.

  "What efforts are being made to find her?"

  "None." llsa stood up so fast that her stool clattered to the floor. "None? Daoshen, this is your . . . your sister!"

  This was one breach too many. Daoshen stood—not quickly, like llsa, but slowly, unfolding himself to his full height, allowing his black robes to drape smoothly in front of him.

  "Such reminders are not necessary." he said, his raspy voice swirling around the room like an aural tornado. "We know who she is. Yet we also never forget our duty. Our responsibility is to the state, not to any individual. It is not our place to risk lives to discover a single missing soldier. If Sang-wei Liao is worthy—and still alive—she will find her way back to the main body of troops in time to leave the planet. It is up to her. The army cannot reconsider its tactics and cannot delay its movements simply because of one soldier, no matter how high-ranking or how personally dear she may be to us." llsa put her hands on her hips. " 'If she is worthy? How dare you! You know her worth! You know her abilities! And you stand here and insinuate that if we lose her, it's her own fault—because she wasn't 'worthy'!"

  Daoshen kept his calm. "We know our sister has demonstrated considerable skill on Solaris VII. Yet history has often demonstrated that skill in tournaments does not always translate to skill on the battlefield, and it certainly is no indication of skill in command. She was sent to New Hessen in part to show how well her skills can be applied to the real world. If she does not return, we will have our answer." llsa pulled her chin up, and Daoshen suppressed a small shiver that tickled the base of his spine. "If this is a measure of her skill—if this is some sort of a test—- then she will pass. She will return. She will never disappoint you."

  "We certainly wish that to be the case." Daoshen said, then eased himself back down onto his throne. llsa was already on her way out of the room, her gown swaying behind her. Though Ilsa's methods differed from his, Daoshen could not help thinking, as he watched her go, that she was a queen indeed.

  DropShip Sword of Justice, New Hessen Outbound

  Federated Suns

  22 September 3135

  There was a shuddering, then the slow lifting as an enormous weight pulled itself into the sky. The speed increased, and Danai was pushed into her chair. She felt a heavy weight on her chest, but the g-force had nothing to do with that—she'd been feeling that for days.

  She wanted to forget. To forget the whole series of events. She had come with such high hopes . . .

  It wouldn't be much—she'd just have to erase a few months of memory, to find a way never to think of it again. Then she could proceed as if her defeat—her entire series of defeats—had never happened.

  It was impossible. Everything, every moment, was seared into her memory, as easy to replay as a holovid. Easier, even—over the past few days, it had often replayed without her intent. It was starting again now.

  She saw Caleb and his knife. She heard the battle crashing around them. She felt the warehouse floor under her back, felt Caleb pawing her . . .

  When she came back to her senses, the ship had left New Hessen's pull. Her skin felt clammy and she was shaking in her seat. But she was gone. Away from that planet.

  Except for the part of her that would never leave New Hessen.

  She took a shuddering breath. She knew she couldn't continue like this for long. Her Great-Aunt Erde had long ago taught her the futility of evading herself. There was, her great-aunt had told her solemnly, an old saying with much truth to it: "No matter where you go, there you are." To a young Danai, the words had sounded like nonsense. She now knew that was intentional, that her great-aunt had found it amusing to plant wisdom in a silly phrase. Erde had meant that you can run and run, but you can never escape yourself. Cross a star system or two or a hundred, move as fast as yo
ur legs or a Kearny-Fuchida drive could carry you, but the moment you look in a mirror—well, there you are.

  She would face it someday. She would take Caleb's violation of her and find a way to live with it, to move beyond pain and hurt and anger and make herself whole again. And then she would castrate the Davion son of a bitch.

  She would do it soon. Just not today.

  The DropShip moved toward its rendezvous point, where it would dock with the JumpShip that would take Danai home so she could stand in front of her brother the chancellor and tell him how badly she had been beaten.

  3

  Ningpo Jump Point

  Capellan Confederation

  12 October 3135

  Danai had been traveling for four weeks, and she had spent very little of that time outside her own quarters. There had been debriefings, of course, and a medical checkup (thank God for rank, Danai had thought during the visit to the doctor—the poor med had meekly suggested that maybe someone else should know about what he was seeing, but Danai snapped at him to mind his own business and swore him to secrecy on the name of her brother the chancellor). Other than that, she had stayed secluded. She accepted no invitations to other quarters and she invited no one to hers.

  Any passersby who knew of her self-imposed isolation might have been surprised to hear a voice coming from her quarters almost constantly. It spoke in a long monologue, sometimes full of sorrow, other times bursting with rage, still other times managing only to sound befuddled.

  Danai had spent the entire journey to the New Hessen jump point recording, editing and rerecording a holovid for her Great-Aunt Erde.

  The editing was principally for clarity as she tried to ensure that what she was attempting to say came across. She didn't remove parts that might make her look bad, or weak, or vulnerable. She wasn't making the holovid to put forward a brave face, to tell Erde that everything was okay. She was making it so she could say out loud all the thoughts that were racing around inside her head and try to communicate them to the only person who might understand them.